


My First Fall

by BadassCompany



Series: The Things We Did (But Never Spoke Of) [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Destiel - Freeform, Emotional Sex, Episode: s05e03 Free to Be You and Me, First Time, Hand Jobs, Loss of Virginity, Minor canon divergence, Multi, Oral Sex, Porn, Porn with Feelings, coda fic, destiel smut, head canon, virgin Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 12:10:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9180853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadassCompany/pseuds/BadassCompany
Summary: I must have always loved him and only later recognized it for what it was. Before I fell from Grace, before I fell from heaven, I first fell for Dean Winchester.All I could think was how strange it was, in the vast scheme of the universe, how unbearably good this one moment felt.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Alright guys! This is posted OUT OF ORDER. This is the very first part of the story, finally edited and up. One thing may need explaining, and that is my headcanon for this fic. (It is discussed in the fic, so feel free to skip this and read on if you want.)  
> Basically, everybody assumed that Jimmy died when Lucifer exploded Cas at the end of s5. But it occurred to me that Cas had been blown up once before, in Chuck's house in 5x01. Surely Jimmy would have died then, because the soul cannot inhabit the human body while it's not intact. Therefore, in 5x03, where this fic is set, Cas was alone in Jimmy's body.  
> This runs into problems in 5x14 where Famine causes Cas to crave red meat. It's unclear whether Jimmy had to be present in the vessel for that to occur or whether Cas inhabiting that body at all was sufficient. For the purposes of this fic being non-creepy, we'll assume that by 5x03, Jimmy was in heaven and Cas was the only one in his body!

I think the moment I became his friend was when I rebelled for him. Of course, I had helped him, healed him, stitched him back from nothingness, broken all of heaven's rules simply because he wanted something, let him swear at me and told him all I knew of the truth. I'm not sure he was really aware of what all those things took; he probably still isn’t. When I rebelled for him, that was the first thing I did he could understand. This, then, was when we became friends in his eyes. I was unfamiliar with the concept and made no such classifications. I am not sure, though, when I became something _more_ to him; whether it was when I first dragged him bleeding out of Hell, or sometime after that.

He had never been a mere friend to me. I didn't know about 'friends' then. He was only Dean. I had seen his soul, his entire life and being, and I rather admired him. He was broken, of course. A righteous man with a psychotic glint in his eye and a whiskey problem to drown America. I didn’t even know what love felt like. It's understandable, then, when I say that I must have always loved him and only later recognized it for what it was. It is clear to me that before I fell from Grace, before I fell from heaven, I first fell for Dean Winchester. The first time it happened – the first time we – the first time – was that when I fell?

He seemed to think the fact it was the first time - no, _my_ first time - was important. It wasn't.

 

I was alone in my vessel for the first time. Jimmy had died when the archangel blew me to pieces in Chuck’s living room. It was odd, to be alone in this body which was now technically mine. I began to realize that certain thoughts, certain hungers, which before I had taken for granted as background hum from Jimmy’s thoughts, were my own. It was startling, to say the least.

 

It was after we’d left Raphael in the burning circle of holy oil. My face was still damp from the earlier storm. We were driving along the road when abruptly, he pulled over the car onto a dirt track leading away from the highway and stopped. I waited for him to say something.

“We coulda died in there,” he said, rubbing a hand over his neck.

“Yes,” I replied.

“And you know what?” he turned to me, a small smile tugging at his lips, rich with something I didn’t understand. “You would’ve still been a virgin. How messed up is that?”

“I-” I didn’t know what to say.

“I mean, you’re centuries old, one of the most powerful creatures in the world, and you know next to nothing about having a good time.” He paused.

I stayed silent, my mind still tracking on what he had said earlier. I could still die, tomorrow. So could he. We were at war with heaven and hell.

“And it seems like the world ending is still frickin’ nigh,” he echoed my thoughts.

"Yes," I rumbled, distracted by how the moonlight played over the bow in his lips.

I'll admit that I had entertained thoughts before that night of what it would be like to kiss Dean. I didn't think these thoughts strange, or inappropriate. I was unaware of the invisible boundaries he'd erected, and just as unaware that he had to tear them down. I stood too close and I stared too long and I _wondered_ , but I didn't make the first move. Looking back, I don't know why I didn't. Dean Winchester was mortal, a beautiful flame likely about to be snuffed out, and I merely stood there and watched him? Perhaps it was because I was still unaccustomed to free will and the rush of recklessness which accompanied it.

Luckily for me, he was experienced in such things. “Get out of the car,” he said softly. He opened his door and stepped out. I followed his example, leaning on the hood of the Impala.

"You know, it occurred to me tonight that there's one thing I don't want to die without doing." He straightened, and cast about as if looking for something to do with his hands. I didn't understand for a moment, not until he grabbed the lapels of my coat and pulled me towards him, our warm bodies flush through our clothes, and kissed me. Not roughly, but deeply. My hands came around his shoulders, scarcely daring to believe this was real. I moaned unashamedly when he flicked his tongue into my mouth and knotted his fingers in my hair. Never, in all my days on Earth, had anything felt so _good_.

I didn't want our kisses to stop. They were hot and sweet, interspersed with the rough scratch of stubble against my chin. We kissed for what felt like hours, but it still was not long enough. His hands snaked under my shirt to feel my bare skin, and I was drunk on want. I wasn’t sure for what, but how I felt it. He was the one to break away, tearing his own shirt off and lifting mine over my arms. I was surprised how graceful my surrender to him had made our movements, and I let him push me back against the Impala. I tilted my neck, reveling in the soft kisses he put there and the scrape of his teeth. He bent me backwards until my shoulderblades touched the ice-cold black metal. I circled my arms around his waist and pulled him to me. He rolled his hips against mine, and all thoughts of how beautifully our bodies worked together through surrender and taking froze. Pleasure butterflied through my groin and stomach, and Dean breathed against my ear, "Oh, Cas."

He bucked his hips against me like a wild thing, and I held onto him tightly, sliding my hands over his bare skin. Eventually, he stepped back for a moment, eyes drinking me in hungrily. I stayed where I was, my arms left to rest over the hood, chest heaving as I lay on the car staring him steadily in the eyes. He came back to me, and sucked and bit and lapped at my skin, leaving curious red marks I could only just see in the dim darkness. He worked his way across my torso with his lips, laughing when I shuddered at the way he toyed with my nipples. He sucked at them, wet heat before his cold teeth twisted groans from me, soothing with kitten licks, and then moving ever lower. He kissed my lean muscles, the curves of my body, until I was a moaning wreck beneath him.

He undid my belt and pants more smoothly than I could have done myself, though his hands were shaking. I noticed this and grasped his wrists for a moment, steadying him. He pulled my jeans and boxers down, biting his lip as he stared at my exposed cock. I liked the way he looked at me. Not that lecherous smirk he reserved for women at bars, nor the tender stare for his friends. It was fiercer, and altogether beautiful. He ran his thumbs over the dark swirls of hair on my thighs, before leaning forward and swirling his tongue around the head of my dick. I whimpered. The last coherent thought I formed before he swallowed me down into the hot slick of his mouth was how strange it was, in the vast scheme of the universe, how unbearably good this one moment felt.

He bobbed up and down slowly, letting his gaze roam over me. My hands slid over his tanned, muscular shoulders and through his short brown hair. I was shaking as he claimed me, running his fingertips across my ribs and digging his nails in. He moaned around my cock, such sweet dirty noises. So lost was I in the push and the pull of his lips and tongue, the sinfully hot pleasure they brought me that I barely noticed the aching want coiling in my gut. I never wanted this to end, but my body was desperate for release. Dean reached up to fist the few inches of my cock he couldn't take in his mouth, and I fell apart.

I wished I had been looking at him, in that moment, to know what sort of look was in his eyes. What silent words were written there. Instead, my head fell back, eyelids flickering shut on the starry sky. Ecstasy pumped through me, and I came in thick spurts in his mouth. He stroked me, milking me for every last jolt of electric pleasure. Later, I found a bruised handprint on my hip from where he had held me still. He pulled off my cock, and it made an audible pop I found slightly amusing. Somehow, without his lips to steady me, I collapsed to the ground. Gravel bit into my knees as I took his face in my hands and kissed him. He was needy and wanting, pushing and rutting against me, moaning for more into my mouth.

God, I felt high. I pushed him back onto the ground, ignoring the surprise in his expression. He hissed in slight pain at the rough rocks beneath us, but let me strip him of his jeans and underwear. He was gorgeous. Of course, I had knitted his body back together and remade him. I already knew every detail of his body, but touching it this way; this was something different. I draped myself around him, and took his penis in my hand. He groaned at every touch of our skin, every mark I sucked into his flesh. I thought absentmindedly as I stroked him - hard and fast, just like he begged me too - that I liked these red marks. 'Hickeys', he'd later tell me. I liked marking his body as mine, for as we were then, how could he have been anything else?

He clawed against my bare back, and demanded in a low growl that I kiss him. I did, and he shuddered under my touch, gripping me tighter and drawing us so close together I could barely breathe. He came calling my name. Castiel. It was interspersed with rather dubious terms of endearment (baby?) and profanity, but it was my name. Cast out from heaven as I was then, almost fallen, he reminded me who I was. I doubt that was his intention, but it rang true as he shot white ropes of cum into the cup of my hand.

I collapsed over him, our bodies tangling together, sweat in a thin sheen over our skin. It was cold without our frenzied heat, and eventually he pulled me up off the ground. I groaned and pressed myself to him, missing the touch of his skin. He laughed, brushed the dirt off of my left side and his knees, and climbed into his car. Shivering, I followed. The leather seats squeaked as we realigned ourselves, but it was warm. It smelled like whiskey and leather and sweat - it smelled like Dean, I thought as I leaned my head against his shoulder and closed my eyes. He stroked circles on my shoulders.

Dean wouldn't understand this, but of everything that happened that night, those tiny circles his fingers traced were perhaps the thing I like to look back on the most. The language Dean’s hands spoke on my skin was my favorite to unravel.

 

It could have been hours or minutes later when he said, “I should drive.”

“Right.” I snapped my fingers and we were clean and fully clothed again. He blinked, looking almost disappointed.

“Do you, ah,” he waved a hand at his throat. “Think you could do anything about...” he trailed off. I laid a single finger to the side of his throat, watching the marks I had put there disappear. I left the ones on his chest, stomach and thighs.

“Okay.” He grabbed my hand, stroking his thumb over the knuckles. His lips twitched like he was trying to say something. “Cas… keep this just between the two of us, yeah?”

I blinked. What we’d done felt… _sacred_ to me. It belonged to us. He didn’t need to worry. “Of course.”

We stayed still for a moment, treasuring the solid feel of each other. This, I thought, could be the last time I touched him. Life was unpredictable, fleeting. Even as he pulled away to drive, his hand lingering on mine for that last second, we were readying ourselves for the end.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if this is going to be my last installation of this story or not. I hate to leave you hanging on the very angsty part I posted before this (Kisses Like Broken Glass), but I am trying to work on my original fiction writing in the hopes of getting published. I think I need to take a break from fanfic writing to help me focus more. There may be one or two more parts at a later date, though, so subscribe to this series or my author page!  
> If I do decide not to write more fanfic, know that I will still be in the community reading and commenting and that I love you all.  
> ~BadassCompany


End file.
